The Turning of the Tide
by katyfriday
Summary: What happens during those long hours waiting at The Fisherman's Rest? This is set during the events of The Scarlet Pimpernel.


**Author's note: **My thanks to Baroness Orczy who created these characters. Some speech has been lifted directly from _Chapter 21: Suspense, The Scarlet Pimpernel._

For Sarah, without whom this story would never have been. She challenged me to write what happened during the long wait at _The Fisherman's Rest_. She also has my gratitude for persnickerty corner...

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HIS wrists and ankles were sore from the constant chafe of ropes against his skin. The chill of the October night had crept into his bones, leaving him shivering as he peered into the blackness trying to discern anything which would help with his escape.

At his side Tony was asleep. The younger man had struggled against his bonds in vain and eventually fallen into a troubled sleep, hunched uncomfortably in the corner of the damp, dingy cellar they were imprisoned in. Knowing his efforts were likely useless, he nevertheless attempted once more to see an inch further in the darkness; to gain some clue of where they were.

He cursed his impotence. He knew very well why they were being held and muttered an oath at his own stupidity. The chief had expressly warned against meeting in public places until he gave the all clear. It was no secret that he and Tony were members of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. They were obviously being used as bait to capture their fearless leader.

If only they had checked the coffee-room more closely. If only they had kept the lights higher. If only they had not been so engrossed in the latest message from the chief. The thoughts circled his head again and again. But it was folly to think of what might have been. His job now was to get them out of this mess and report back as soon as possible.

Despite the precarious nature of their predicament he never once gave up hope that they would escape somehow. He had witnessed too many seemingly impossible escapes in Revolutionary France to quail at the thought of walking free from an English country house. Which is why he was on the alert now, trying to find some chink in the enemy armour.

He needed the chief here, with his sharp wits and endless faith in his own good fortune. While never shirking his duties with the League he knew he could never take the place of their leader - who came up with madcap plans and always had the daring to carry them through.

He shifted slightly on the dank floor, trying to find a more comfortable position. With both his hands and feet bound it was no easy task, but concentrating on his physical discomforts led his mind away from its constant circling for an instant.

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A sudden call from the ostler wrenched his mind away from the indignities of a few days ago. A fresh horse was ready for him and he could continue his frenetic journey to Dover. Now was no time to be getting lost in what had been. With the chief apparently in danger he needed to keep his focus on the task at hand. He slammed his still half-full tankard down on a nearby shelf, sloshing ale over the rim, and left the shelter of the stable, wrapping his greatcoat closer around him to protect him from the worsening weather.

As he spurred his sluggish mount to greater speed he began to think of what he needed to do once he reached the coast. He would not be distracted again - the smell of damp wood in the stables had brought back the memories of his days of imprisonment, already close to the surface as he worried about the trap now being laid down for his chief. Resolutely he vowed to ensure that he learned from the experience and used it wisely to help prevent the capture of his friend and leader - the Scarlet Pimpernel.

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AS he crossed the threshold of the famous hostelry Lady Blakeney rose to greet him with a smile at his outrageous appearance.

"Faith! Monsieur, my lacquey. I am satisfied with your appearance!"

As he drew nearer to the hearth he took in the way she looked with the firelight flickering a burnished sheen across her golden-red hair. She was not the same desperate woman who had thrown aside convention to visit his chambers and beg for his aid. He had been unsure of her motives initially. But now her face was innocent of guile and he banished any thoughts of her duplicity at once.

When she had come to him with her tales of St Just's note he had wondered from whence she had the information. And when she confirmed his worst fears he had recalled the whispers surrounding the newly wed Lady Blakeney and the deaths of the St Cyr family. He had had no interest in the rumours at the time. Percy had never shown the least hint of despair or despondency over his wife fromthe time when he presented her into English society, a few weeks after their impetuous marriage.

His faith in Percy had never wavered. He had not given instructions that she could be trusted with the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, but neither had he said she could not be trusted. Percy had kept his married life entirely separate from the work of the League and he was only now beginning to question this.

The vision of a pair of soft brown eyes gazing up at him from under a halo of curls floated across his mind. New found feelings of love were giving him an insight into a world of emotions he had not dreamt of. He knew Percy was not one to do anything less than wholeheartedly and he was unsure of what exactly had caused the rift between husband and wife.

But he remembered the look he had surprised on Percy's face not many days since in this very room, as his eyes followed his wife's departing figure. He decided it was not his place to keep two people who felt so passionately for one another apart.

Lady Blakeney was still talking to the landlord, and he took in the sombre look on Jellyband's usually jovial face. He did not want undue attention drawn to their presence in the inn, nor did he wish to cause old Jellyband any concern, especially as they were set for an overnight stay.

He explained the situation as quickly as he could to her ladyship. If he had any lingering doubts they were done away with in that instant. On hearing the news that they could not cross to her homeland Lady Blakeney's face went ashen. Despite her reputation, he did not think she was so good an actress as to be able to fake the impact his words had on her already fragile emotions.

As he impressed upon her that the weather had trapped the French agent as well as themselves - without giving away their circumstances to the still listening landlord - she regained her composure.

He turned his attentions to the worthy Jellyband and bade him unlock the two rooms he had prepared.

"There, have no fear, friend of the rueful countenance, her ladyship's visit, though at this unusual hour, is a great honour to thine house, and Sir Percy Blakeney will reward thee doubly, if thou seest well to her privacy and comfort."

After dismissing the now thawing Jellyband he relayed his meagre news to her ladyship. She was eager to hear more, but he could not add much to his previous report. Mother Nature held them fast and until she calmed they were tied to _The Fisherman's Rest_ by the howling wind and the claps of thunder which were echoing round the house.

He encouraged her to eat and drink and recounted to her some of the Scarlet Pimpernel's more daring exploits. She delighted in hearing tales of his outrageous costumes and awe-inspiring bravery. Her eyes shone as she drank in all he could tell her. The time passed swiftly as he enjoyed nothing more than talking of his beloved leader, and she was the perfect audience for such stories.

But as the ancient clock tolled the hour he insisted she get some rest and saw her to the bedchamber set aside. He checked the coffee-room by candlelight once more before retiring for the night himself.

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"SIR Andrew!" Lady Blakeney moved down the stairs towards him with a bright smile which almost disguised the shadows under her eyes. How could he shatter her hopes once more?

"My apologies, Lady Blakeney", he said. "I have been out not half an hour since to search for a suitable vessel for us to make the crossing. Until this wretched wind abates we are quite stranded. And we must wait once more for the turn of the tide - another ten or twelve hours hence."

The bright smile faltered and she clenched her hand, the knuckles whitening around the newel post, in a desperate effort to hold herself together. He felt her anxiety keenly, and admired her strength at coping with the preceding day and still be willing to face the ordeal ahead. Another tortuous wait in the cramped confines of the inn was not expected of the darling of society, but he could see from the determined tilt of her chin that she did not mean to give up now.

"Madame", he crooked his arm invitingly. "Could I escort you to breakfast?"

His levity was rewarded with the brief return of a smile. He did not think she would be able to eat much, but helped her through to a private sitting room which he had engaged as soon as he arrived back from the pier.

Endless hours of waiting stretched before them now. As he looked at her wan countenance his firm resolve wavered. She would not be buoyed by the same hope which had lifted her spirits so well yesterday.

His eyes met her vivid blue ones, which at that moment seemed to well over with despair. He hastened to break the silence which seemed to be increasing the tension in the air.

"Lady Blakeney..." He got no further.

"Please, Sir Andrew, do not let us stand on ceremony. We have many weary hours before us and I would like to feel that I am spending that time with... a friend."

Her eyes held a look of faith and sincerity which gave him pause. He had know Lady Blakeney - Marguerite - for months now and it was the first time he had seen her without her society façade firmly in place. Even yesterday in her distress it had not slipped and let him closer - her whole being had been focused on one man alone.

He felt vaguely as she made her plea that despite being surrounded by adoring crowds in London she was very alone; in a strange country without friends or family. He could not but think that she was must be besieged by offers, so her isolation must to some extent be self-inflicted. He felt honoured to be gifted with her friendship.

He nodded his acquiescence to her request, but felt he had lost his grip on the situation. He resorted to practicalities.

"I shall check at the pier every hour until we have news."

"That gives us only five minutes to concern ourselves with now", she smiled and seemed to relax knowing they were working together to save a beloved life.

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WHEN Andrew returned the remains of breakfast had been cleared away by Sally and the table stood empty. Marguerite had pulled up a chair near to the small fire and had been going through her reticule by the look of a few odd items precariously balanced on the arm.

She met his eyes as he came into the cramped space, only to turn her face to the fire. He had no good news, the tide was still on the turn and the winds made any crossing impossible. She did not need him to say it, the information was writ large in his expression.

He took up a neighbouring chair and settled into it, glancing curiously at the oddments still decorating her chair. Marguerite caught his look.

"Lud, man! Never say you have not seen the rubbish a woman carries around with her? I must have something to occupy my time - I cannot bear this forced nothingness!"

As her voice cracked at the last words he once again felt for her in the dreadful situation she had been placed in by her own hand.

He could only watch as she swept up from the chair and began to pace about the room, her skirts swinging and brushing impatiently across the floor. She was careful to avoid going near to the small window and this left her with a tiny area - she stepped nervously back and forth like some wild creature.

"Really, Lady -", he caught her frown and stopped himself, even as he rose to stand beside her. But the habits of a lifetime were not easily overcome. "Please sit. I will see if they can bring us some coffee?"

"I do not need coffee. I need a ship to take me to France", she snapped. Then stopped short, contrite. "I am so sorry. You have treated me with nothing but kindness and courtesy. And done me the great honour of trusting me - please forgive me."

"You have done nothing to me which warrants forgiveness. But I am remembering our earlier pledge and I would not be a true friend unless I provided you with sustenance and encouraged you to rest before our journey."

She sighed.

"You are right."

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THIS time when he returned the fragrant smell of coffee wafted to greet him, banishing the salty tang of the sea. Marguerite looked up, she was still seated by the fire and the flames from the small blaze cast a sallow wash across her already drawn features. He shook his head.

"There will be no passage for at least another four or five hours. The men say it is useless to return within two hours."

"_Et alors...?_" Even her query was listless.

"I found this!" He injected as much enthusiasm as he could muster into his voice as he exhibited a tattered old newspaper. He had found it abandoned on a seat in the coffee-room when he came back and knew the value of anything to distract one when faced with endless captive hours. "Shall I read to you?"

At first she took little interest, but a piece on the production of _Orpheus_ seemed to bring her out of her reverie.

"May I?" She took the crackling sheets from him gently and began to scan the columns for something else.

Mention of the opera seemed to revive her and fix her attention more firmly on their goal. He could only be grateful for whatever had brought her back to the purposeful woman he was beginning to get to know.

From then on time passed more smoothly, not swiftly, but it did not drag quite so much as it had. They entertained each other with excerpts from the newspaper - Andrew was reminded how good an actress Marguerite could be as she exercised her talents and used different voices for each of the snippets she read.

Then she changed the subject.

"Do you know, Suzanne de Tournay was one of my first friends at the convent? We would spend hours together walking the grounds, sharing tales of homesickness and other girlish secrets. I am so glad that she is safe in England now."

He looked at her over the top of the newspaper. She met his gaze candidly, with no trace of mischievousness in her eyes. He cleared his throat and checked the clock, finding it was time once more to head to the pier.

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HE strode into the room with a sure step. Marguerite looked up from the table where she had spread the newspaper, and leapt to her feet. Five short words had her springing forward to grasp his hands in an ecstasy of emotion.

"I have chartered a schooner."

Her hands tightened around his larger ones for an instant and she lifted her chin in a now familiar determined gesture.

"O! _Merci!_ When do we board? When can she set sail? How long do you think it will take us to cross?" The words tumbled from her as water from a spring and her eyes shone with a fervent light.

"'Twill be a while longer before we board I'm afraid. We will have to wait here until after tea."

"Faith! I care not now that I know we will be able to leave today." She stepped away to allow him further into the stuffy chamber and seated herself once more before the fire. He took the chair across from her.

The atmosphere seemed to have lifted with the news that the weather was calming and the tide was turning. He ventured to broach the subject they had mutually avoided all morning by unspoken agreement.

"Blakeney is often in Calais and I believe I know most of his bolt holes. I hope it will not take long to find him once we are ashore."

He still felt this was an unsuitable mission for a lady to undertake, but having seen the fortitude which had brought Marguerite this far he had not the heart to suggest she stay behind. Her whole being seemed to snap to attention at the mention of his name.

"We must find him swiftly. And warn him of the trap laid for him. I cannot bear the thought of him being ensnared by that wretched spy. To think of his noble life ending at the foot of the guillotine..." Her voice was scarce above a whisper as she spoke the last few words. Her brief supply of joy was running low, as thoughts of her beloved husband and the great wrong she had done him once more took her in their grip.

Andrew could not remonstrate with her, but once more felt the terrible pain she was feeling tear through her as though it had a physical impact on him. His thoughts also turned to his revered chief and pondered some of the seemingly impossible escapades he had pulled off. He leaned forward and patted her arm with a warm comforting hand.

"Did I tell you of the time we rescued a family from the prison? Blakeney was dressed in the most outlandish costume, covered in grime..." She gave him a grateful smile as he began to recount the tale.

The last hours passed by more quickly than the preceding time. Andrew ordered tea and managed to drink several cups as well as pretending to eat muffins in the hope of encouraging Marguerite to partake of refreshment. She had not eaten properly since they started their adventure and he was concerned for her strength. He normally had no trouble eating, but usually Percy was there to give the orders, and he just had his own insignificant role to fulfil.

At last the time came for them to leave for the ship and they gathered together the few possessions they had brought with them, knowing that the final, most precarious stage of their journey was about to begin.

On board Andrew checked all was in order with the skipper, before searching for Marguerite. He saw her with her face turned into the soft breeze, her regal profile bidding farewell to the white cliffs of Dover. As the turning tide carried them further from the safety of England it brought them ever closer to their precious goal.

Side by side they watched the sunset as it turned the sky a vivid palette of fiery reds and oranges, sending tongues of flame down to dance on the sparkling sea.

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End file.
